The Clan of the Cave Bear

by Jean M. Auel

  Broud did start Durc, though. I wonder if my totem led Broud to give me the signal that first time? It was awful, but it could have been another test, and maybe there was no other way. My totem must have known, must have planned it. He knew how much I wanted a baby, and he did give me a sign that Durc would live. Wouldn’t it infuriate Broud if he knew? He hated me so much, he gave me the one thing I wanted most.

  “Ayla,” Uba said, interrupting her train of thought, “I just saw Creb and Brun go into the cave. It’s getting late, we should start preparing something to eat, Creb will be hungry.”

  Durc had fallen asleep. He woke when Ayla picked him up, but soon settled back down, snuggled in the cloak next to his mother’s breast. I’m sure Brun will let Ura come and be Durc’s mate, she thought as they walked back to the cave of the host clan. They are more right for each other than Oda realizes. But what about me? Will I ever find a mate that’s right for me?

  23

  When the last two clans arrived, Ayla went through a similar ordeal, on a smaller scale, as the one that greeted her entrance. The tall blonde woman was an oddity among the nearly two hundred and fifty Clan people from ten clans that had gathered together. She was noticed wherever she went, and her every action scrutinized. As abnormal as she appeared, no one could detect any deviation in her behavior. Ayla was extremely careful to make sure no one would.

  She displayed none of the peculiar characteristics that still slipped out in the more relaxed atmosphere of their own cave. She didn’t laugh, or even smile. No tears wet her eyes. No long strides or free-swinging arm movements betrayed her unwomanly inclinations. She was a paragon of Clan virtue, an exemplary young matron—and no one noticed. No one, outside her clan, ever knew a woman who acted any other way. But it made her presence acceptable, and, as Uba predicted, they got used to her. There were too many other activities at a meeting of the clans for the novelty of one strange woman to hold their attention for long.

  It wasn’t easy to maintain such a large aggregation within the close confines of the cave environment for an extended period of time. It took cooperation, coordination, and a large dose of courtesy. The leaders of the ten clans were far busier than they ever were with only their own members to worry about; the numbers of people added together multiplied the problems.

  Feeding the horde meant hunting expeditions had to be organized. While established patterns and ranks within any one clan made disposition of the hunters easy, when two or more clans hunted together, problems arose. Clan status determined the leader of the combined group, but which third-ranked man was more competent? They tried different arrangements at first, careful to exchange positions so no one would be offended. After the competitions started, it would become easier, but no hunting party went out without first deciding the relative positions of the men.

  The women’s plant-gathering forays had their problems, too. Theirs was a case of too many women trying to select the choicest produce. An area could be depleted quickly with no one getting quite enough. Preserved food brought with them supplemented the diet of every clan, but fresh foods were always more desirable. The host clan always foraged far away from their cave before a Gathering, but even that courtesy was inadequate to satisfy the needs of all. Though no long journey limited their time to store food for winter, the clan that hosted the meeting still had to build up an extra reserve. By the time it was over, edible food plants in their vicinity would be exhausted.

  There was an adequate supply of water from the glacier-fed stream flowing nearby, but firewood was at a premium. Cooking was done outside the cave, unless it rained, and clans prepared their food as a unit, rather than at separate hearths. Even so, most of the dried fallen deadwood and many living trees, which would take more than a season or two to replenish themselves, were used up. The environment around the cave after the Clan Gathering would never be the same.

  Supply was not the only problem, disposal was an issue of equal importance. Human waste and other refuse had to be accommodated. And space had to be provided. Not only living space within the shelter of the cave, but space to cook, space to assemble, space for competitions and dancing and feasting, and space to move around. Organizing the activities was no small feat in itself. All of it involved interminable discussion and compromise, within an atmosphere charged with intense competition. Custom and tradition played a large role in smoothing out many of the bumps, but it was in this arena that Brun’s administrative mind came to the fore.

  Creb was not the only one whose enjoyment of the Clan Gathering was largely because of association with his peers. Brun enjoyed the challenge of pitting himself against men whose authority equaled his own. That was his contest: to vie for domination of the other leaders. Interpretation of ancient ways sometimes required fine hair-splitting, the ability to make a decision and the strength of character to hold to it, yet to know when to yield. Brun was not first leader without reason. He knew when to be forceful, when to be conciliatory, when to call for a consensus, and when to stand alone. Whenever the clans gathered, one strong man usually emerged who could forge the authoritarian leaders into a cohesive, workable entity, at least for the duration of the meeting. Brun was that man. He had been since he first became leader of his own clan.

  Had he lost face, his own self-doubt would have lost him his advantage. Without the base of surety in his own judgment, his diffidence would have cast doubt over his decisions. He could not face a Gathering, and the other leaders, under those circumstances. But it was just that background of strength and compromise, within the unyielding framework of Clan tradition, that had allowed him to make the concessions he had toward Ayla. And once the threat to himself was past, he began to view her differently.

  Ayla had tried to force a decision, but it was within the structure of Clan custom, as she interpreted it, and it wasn’t in a wholly unworthy cause. True, she was a woman and must understand her place, but she had come to her senses and seen the error of her ways in time. When she showed him the location of her small cave, he was privately amazed that she had reached it in her weak condition. He wondered if a man could have done it, and masculinity was measured by stoic endurance. Brun admired courage, determination, endurance; they showed strength of character. In spite of the fact that Ayla was a woman, Brun admired her grit.

  “If Zoug were here, we would have won the sling competition,” Crug motioned. “No one could have beaten him.”

  “Except Ayla,” Goov commented with guarded gestures. “Too bad she couldn’t compete.”

  “We don’t need a woman to win,” Broud gestured. “The sling contest doesn’t count for that much, anyway. Brun will win the bola-throwing, he always has. And there’s still the spear-and-running contest.”

  “But Voord already won the running competition; he stands a good chance to win in running-and-spear-stabbing, too,” Droog said. “And Gorn did well with the club.”

  “Just wait until we show them our mammoth hunt. Our clan is bound to win,” Broud answered. Hunt reenactments were a part of many ceremonies; occasionally they happened spontaneously after an especially exciting hunt. Broud enjoyed acting them out. He knew he was good at evoking the sense of excitement and drama of the hunt and loved being the center of attention.

  But hunt reenactments served a purpose greater than showing off. They were instructive. With expressive pantomime, and a few props, they demonstrated hunting techniques and tactics to youngsters and other clans. It was a way of developing and sharing skills. Had they been asked, everyone would have agreed that the prize awarded to the clan that came out best in the complicated competition was status: to be acknowledged first among peers. But there was another prize awarded, though it was not acknowledged. The competitions sharpened skills necessary for survival.

  “We’ll win if you lead the hunt dance, Broud,” Vorn said. The ten-year-old boy, fast approaching manhood, still idolized the future leader. Broud courted his adoration by admitting him into the men’s discussions whenever he could.r />
  “Too bad your race doesn’t count, Vorn. I was watching; it wasn’t even close. You were way out in front. But it’s good practice for next time,” Broud said. Vorn glowed under the praise.

  “We’ve still got a good chance,” Droog motioned. “But it could go the other way. Gorn is strong, he gave you a good fight in the wrestling match, Broud. I wasn’t sure you could take him. Norg’s second must be proud of the son of his mate; he’s grown since the last Gathering. I think he’s the biggest man here.”

  “He’s got the strength, all right,” Goov said. “It showed when he won with the club, but Broud is quicker, and almost as strong. Gorn came in a close second.”

  “And Nouz is good with that sling. I think he must have seen Zoug last time and decided to work on it; he just didn’t want to let an older man beat him again,” Crug added. “If he’s practiced as much with the bola, he may give Brun a good contest. Voord is a fast runner, but I thought you were going to catch him, Broud. That one was close, too, you were just a step behind him.”

  “Droog makes the best tools,” Grod gestured. The laconic man seldom volunteered comment.

  “Selecting the best and bringing them here is one thing, Grod, but it will take luck to make them well with everyone watching. That young man from Norg’s clan has skill,” Droog replied.

  “That’s one contest where you’ll have the advantage just because he is younger, Droog. He’ll be more nervous and you have more experience in competing. You’ll be able to concentrate better,” Goov encouraged.

  “But it still takes luck.”

  “They all take luck,” Crug said. “I still think old Dorv tells a better story than anyone.”

  “You’re just used to him, Crug,” Goov motioned. “That’s a hard competition to judge. Even some of the women tell a good story.”

  “But not as exciting as the hunt dances. I think I saw Norg’s clan talking about how they hunted a rhino, but they stopped when they saw me,” Crug said. “They may show that hunt.”

  Oga approached the men diffidently and signaled that their evening meal was ready. They waved her off. She hoped it wouldn’t take them too long to decide to come and eat. The longer they waited, the longer it would delay them from joining the other women who were gathering to tell stories, and she didn’t want to miss any of it. Usually it was the older women who acted out the legends and histories of the Clan with dramatic pantomime. Often the stories were intended to educate the young, but they were all entertaining: sad stories that wrung the heart, happy stories that brought joy and inspiration, and humorous stories that made their own embarrassing moments feel less ridiculous.

  Oga went back to the fireplace near the cave. “I don’t think they’re hungry, yet,” she motioned.

  “It looks like they’re coming after all,” Ovra said. “I hope they don’t linger too long over the meal.”

  “Brun’s coming, too. The leaders’ meeting must be over, but I don’t know where Mog-ur is,” Ebra added.

  “He went into the cave with the mog-urs earlier. They must be in this clan’s place of spirits. No telling when they’ll be out. Do we have to wait for him?” Uka asked.

  “I’ll set something aside for him,” Ayla said. “He always forgets to eat when he’s getting ready for ceremonies. He’s so used to eating his food cold, sometimes I think he likes it better. I don’t think he’ll mind if we don’t wait for him.”

  “Look, they’re starting already. We’re going to miss the first stories,” Ona gestured with disappointment.

  “It can’t be helped, Ona,” Aga said. “We can’t go until the men are through.”

  “We won’t miss too many, Ona,” Ika consoled. “The stories will go on all night. And tomorrow the men will show their best hunts and we’ll be allowed to watch. Won’t that be exciting?”

  “I’d rather watch the women’s stories,” Ona said.

  “Broud says our clan is going to do the mammoth hunt. He thinks we’re sure to win; Brun is going to let him lead it,” Oga gestured, her eyes glowing with pride.

  “That will be exciting, Ona. I remember when Broud became a man and led the hunt dance. I couldn’t even talk yet, or understand anyone, but it was still exciting,” Ayla motioned.

  After the meal was served, the women waited anxiously, casting longing glances at the congregation of women gathered at the far end of the clearing.

  “Ebra, go ahead and watch your stories, we have things to discuss anyway,” Brun gestured.

  The women picked up babies and herded young children toward the group seated around an old woman who had just started a new story.

  “ … and the mother of Great Ice Mountain …”

  “Hurry,” Ayla motioned. “She’s telling the legend of Durc. I don’t want to miss any of it, it’s my favorite.”

  “Everyone knows that, Ayla,” Ebra said.

  The women of Brun’s clan found places to sit and were soon caught up in the tale.

  “She tells it a little differently,” Ayla motioned after a while.

  “Every clan’s version is a little different, and every storyteller has his own way, but it’s the same story. You’re just used to Dorv. He’s a man, he understands men’s parts better. A woman tells more about the mothers, not only the mother of Great Ice Mountain, but how sad the mothers of Durc and the other young people were when they left the clan,” Uka answered.

  Ayla remembered that Uka had lost her son during the earthquake. The woman could understand a mother’s sadness at losing her son. The modified version gave the legend a new meaning to Ayla, too. For a moment her brow furrowed with concern. My son’s name is Durc; I hope that doesn’t mean I’ll lose him someday. Ayla hugged her baby. No, it can’t be. I almost lost him once, the danger is over now, isn’t it?

  A stray breeze stirred a few loose tendrils of his hair, cooling for a moment his sweat-beaded brow, as Brun carefully gauged the distance to the stump of a tree near the edge of the cleared space that fronted the cave. The rest of the tree, sheared of branches, formed part of the palisade that surrounded the cave bear. The whiff of air only teased. It brought no respite from the stifling afternoon sun glaring down on the dusty field. But the ethereal zephyr moved more than the tensely watching throng that lined the periphery.

  Brun was as still as they, standing with feet apart, his right arm hanging down at his side grasping the handle of his bola. The three heavy stone balls, wrapped in leather shrunk to fit, and attached to braided thongs of unequal length, were splayed out on the ground. Brun wanted to win this contest, not only for the sake of the competition—though that, too, was important—but because he needed to show the other leaders he hadn’t lost his competitive edge.

  Bringing Ayla to the Clan Gathering had cost him. He realized now that he, and his clan, had become too accustomed to her. She was too great an anomaly for the others to accept in so short a time. Even The Mog-ur was fighting to maintain his place, and he hadn’t been able to convince the rest of the mog-urs that she was a medicine woman of Iza’s line. They were willing to forgo the special drink made from the roots rather than allow her to make it. The loss of Iza’s status was one more support knocked out from under Brun’s crumbling position.

  If his clan came in less than first in the competitions, he was certain to lose status, and though they were in the running, the outcome was far from assured. But even winning the competition wouldn’t guarantee his clan top rank, it would only give him an even chance. There were too many other variables. The clan that hosted the Gathering always had an edge, and it was Norg’s clan that was giving his the stiffest competition. If they ran a close enough second, it might give Norg enough backing to come out on top. Norg knew it and was his most relentless opponent. Brun was holding his own by sheer force of will.

  Brun squinted as he eyed the stump. The movement, barely discernible, was enough to halt the breath of half the watchers. The next instant the still figure became a blur of motion, and the three stone balls, whirling aro
und their center, flew toward the stump. Brun knew the mcment the bola left his hand that his throw was off. The stones hit the target, then bounced away, failing to wrap around it. Brun walked over to pick up his bola while Nouz took over his place. If Nouz missed the target entirely, Brun would win. If he hit the stump, they would each have a second try. But if Nouz wrapped his bola around it, the match would be his.

  Brun stood off on the sidelines, face impassive, resisting the urge to clutch his amulet, and only sent a mental plea to his totem. Nouz had no such compunctions. He reached for the small leather pouch around his neck, closed his eyes, then sighted the post. With a sudden burst of rapid motion, he let the bola fly. Only long years of firm self-control kept Brun from letting his disappointment show when the bola wrapped around the stump and held. Nouz had won, and Brun felt his position slip even more.

  Brun stayed in his place while three hides were brought onto the field. One was lashed to the rotted stump of an old snag, a huge old tree whose jagged, broken top was a little taller than the men. Another was laid over a moss-covered fallen log of respectable proportions near the edge of the woods and held down with stones, and the third was spread out on the ground and again held in place with stones. The three formed a triangle of more or less equal sides. Each clan chose one man to compete in this contest, and they lined up in order of clan status near the hide spread on the ground. Other men, carrying sharpened spears, mostly made of yew, though birch, aspen, and willow were also used, went to the other targets.

  Two young men from among the lower-ranked clans paired up first. Each holding a spear, they waited tensely, side by side, eyes glued on Norg. At his signal, they made a dash for the upright snag and slammed their spears into it through the leather, aiming for the place where the animal’s heart would be if the hide still covered him, then grabbed a second spear from their clansmen waiting beside the target. They sprinted to the fallen log and jammed the second spear into it. By the time the third spear was snatched, one man was clearly in the lead. He ran back to the hide on the ground, thrust the spear deep, as close to the middle as he could, then raised his arms triumphantly.